From Slaver to Slave
by William Ault
Summary: A story of how a confused young man destroys his life, and plunges into a world of crazed violence and drug abuse.
1. A Harsh Beginning

From Slaver to Slave

William Ault

I guess I deserved what happened to me; I got too cocky. That's how shit happens. Amazing how one little decision can fuck your life up so much. But, it happens to everyone, I suppose. Everyone's got that one little thing in the back of their heads where they say to themselves, "You know, I really shouldn't have done that." For me, that thing was joining the Slavers Guild.

You can't blame me. I was young, I had nothing else, and what's worse – I was addicted to Jet. I joined the guild because I needed to facilitate my addiction. Sure, I could have sold Jet on the streets to punks for pocket change, but that's no job for an extrovert like me. I needed a community, people to reach out to; even if those people were callous, cold hearted lunatics.

And so, I walked all those miles from New Reno, my heart, the place I was born, to the Den. I thought I was bad, but when I saw some of the junkies there, I really had something to be thankful for. At least I wasn't that bad; at least I wasn't scum. I rented an apartment and slept with rats and scumbags, who'd shoot their own blood just for another hit of Jet.

It was during those months before I joined the guild that I grew an intense hatred for my fellow man, for human beings. It was humans who dropped the bombs; it was humans who killed the Earth. It was humans who invented that foul drug, Jet. I became angry inside. This anger wouldn't cease, and then one day I caught some punk kid with his hands around my wallet.

I just snapped; it wasn't my fault. I was insane back then. I pulled out bottle of Nuka-Cola, and smashed the kid over the head with it. He fell down, unconscious and bleeding profusely. I looked around – no one. No one was around; no one saw what I did. I made a decision then that caused my life to spiral down uncontrollably. I took one of the glass shards that remained from the shattering of the Nuka-Cola, and I slit the kid's throat. He gurgled on his blood, in unconscious struggle.

I fell to my knees; was I really that bad? What had I just done? A child, innocent for the most part, lay dead at my feet. I did what I had to. I stuck his body in a trash bag, and during one of my numerous runs back to New Reno, I buried him at Golgotha.

Golgotha is a horrible place, not fit for anyone to spend their eternal rest. It was the most inconspicuous, however, so that's where the child was recommitted to the Earth. I normally didn't stay too long in Golgotha; it gives you the creeps after the first thirty minutes. This time, though, I took a long walk down the highway that divides it, and thought about things.

I still wasn't right in the head, but I realized one thing – I needed a purpose in life. Something I could look forward to doing when I woke up in the morning. Like most of my decisions, however, I was flawed. I decided that the purpose I was looking for was slaving.

Immediately after arriving in the Den once more, I took a trip to Metzger's, the Slavers Guild. The guards let me in, and I talked with him for a while. I warmed up to him, he was convincing, and the Guild represented something more than enslavement to me. It represented family, a family I had never had; a heavily armed and highly protective family.

The first few missions I went on went rather well; I preformed good, and I had more money than I had ever had in my entire life. I lived in the Guild, making a makeshift bed and buying a footlocker from one of the merchants to keep my stuff in. Most of this stuff was Jet.

In fact, nearly all my money that I gained from enslaving people was put into my addiction. I made a couple thousand dollars a week, not bad money for a petty slaver. By the time I got done buying Jet, I had a little over a hundred dollars left. I would buy whatever food I could find and spent the rest on beer, and occasionally I would rent a cheap whore, or 'borrow' a slave from Metzger's stash. I was living the life that only I could have dreamed of – violence, sex, and most importantly, Jet.

_To Be Continued…_


	2. In the Midst

Chapter 2 – In the Midst

I was taking a Jet pipe when one of Metzger's men came and met me. He was a buff bastard, probably one of the higher ups. I tried my best to pay attention, although the temporary ecstasy I was experiencing made that quite hard. Before I could say anything, the big oaf spoke. "The boss says he needs some business taken care of. He says you're the best man for the job."

"I am pretty good," I said, taking another hit off my Jet pipe. The big guy motioned in disgust. It seemed like he wasn't a fan of my addiction.

"I don't know how you stand that stuff. It does crazy shit to you."

"Yeah, I thought so too at first. It grows on you, though."

We talked for a bit after that. He told me his name – Jonathan. An old name, but a strong one. It fit his character well. In just a few minutes, we had become close friends. But we couldn't talk for forever; we had a job to do.

It just so happened that a few slaves had managed to escape out of the Guild. They had managed to evade being noticed until one of our agents in Redding found them hiding in an abandoned house. There were around ten of them, and they wound up with some weaponry. Since Redding didn't have many slavers in it at that time, we were dispatched to go collect our property.

It was great fun along the way to Redding. Lots of things to kill on that passage, and nothing brings two guys together more than mindless slaughter. We killed everything; traders, raiders, farmers. Nothing could stop us from our mission. For the first time in my life, I really felt a sense of accomplishment. Like my life really meant something. Of course, that was probably just the Jet talking.

We met up with an associate of ours, a travelling merchant with a penchant for slaves. He was holding in captivity a pretty good looking girl, so we killed him and stole her. Out here in the wilderness no one would know that we killed a guild member. We could blame it on raiders, or even the slave. Of course, that would mean we would have to exact our revenge upon the slave in retribution for its crime.

We had our way with her, and it was a pretty swell time. By the time we were done with her, she wasn't dead, but I know I'd wish to be dead if I were in her position. That was my reasoning behind another one of my bad decisions.

We had chained her up outside a tent we had set up. I woke up, and took some hits off a Jet pipe. I then grabbed Jonathan's gun and went outside. I kicked the bitch in the face, and she woke up. She didn't scream, she didn't cry. She had grown used to those kinds of tortures. But you should have seen the fear in her eyes when I held that barrel to her temple and pulled the trigger. It was priceless. At the time, it was the biggest thrill I had ever experienced.

But now, looking back, it was one of the biggest lows I've ever had. I had become a real monster, there was no denying it. I can't look myself in the mirror without cringing. And every time I see a woman getting hurt, I think of her. I think of how her eyes quivered in terror as I cocked the gun. I see the blood splattered all over the ground as the bullet ruptured her skull. I remember the sick way the brain matter looked. But most of all, I remember how good of a time I had doing it, and how sick of a person I was.

After that, I had to explain myself. Jonathan came out, and wanted to know what the fuck happened. Of course, I told her she had tried to escape. I had to get rid of her. He understood. Any good slaver can't let merchandise walk out the door like that. It's just bad business.

It was getting light out, so Jonathan and I decided to head on to Redding. It was only a few miles away, and at a moderate pace we could reach it in a half hour or so. It was at this point that I started to realize what I had done with the slave earlier. I shrugged it off, and reminded myself that I had done much worse things before. Somehow, that made it seem okay. I took a hit of Jet and carried on towards Redding.

We approached Redding, and managed to work our way inside. Now, we had a meeting with our informant in a local bar. He seemed to be an old man, probably in his mid to upper 80's. He was on oxygen, but still had managed to work a way to smoke cigarettes. I now knew why they couldn't take the slaves on the spot – we had a fucking geezer over here. He was nice enough, though. He told us where to find the slaves, and was gone. "Not much for talking, I suppose," muttered Jonathan as Blue hobbled out the door with his oxygen in one hand and a cigarette in the other.

We ordered a drink from the bar. Most people don't trust the stuff that comes out of that Ghoul city, that Rotgut and shit. I like it though. It burns, and I like liquor that has a kick to it. Really offsets the emptiness that the Jet brings about.

I wish I could describe what Jet does to a person, but there are too many aspects of it to comprehend. At first, everything is beautiful. Nothing can go wrong, and yet somehow everything can go wrong. Your senses get overloaded with so much information that they can't function correctly. And that's when the emptiness sets in. It feels like you're lost in an endless ocean; and no matter what you do to escape you can't leave. Then, suddenly the ocean closes in on you and then the panic starts.

I can deal with the emptiness. Ever since I sliced that kid's throat I've been dealing with emptiness. I've grown used to it. That panic, however… no one can get used to that. For as long as I've been using Jet I could never deal with that. But luckily, I had enough of a supply to never have to worry about it. As soon as the panics set in, I would take another hit. I would go back into the ocean.

But at the moment, I was feeling on top of the world. I had just taken an unusually large amount (even for me) of Jet, and drank a bottle of the finest irradiated beer in the entire wasteland. I was ready to go. Jonathan agreed, and we set out towards the location of the escaped slaves.

We passed a few beggars, and I smashed their noses. It was painful for them, but hilarious for me and Jonathan. Soon we reached the building where they were held up, and deciding to take on a stealthy approach, we snuck in through the window. They were sleeping – it was perfect. We slid down the wall and approached them sneakily. Jonathan had managed to find a dart gun in one of the shops around the wasteland. We filled it with some tranquilizers and managed to tag all of the slaves. We were binding them up together when a calm figure walked out from a back room.

"We knew you'd be coming for them. You bastards can't resist, can you?" the man, whose body was built and face was noble. He had an aura of power that surrounded him, and for the first time in a long time I was fearful of my opponent.

"What are you talking about? These are our slaves. They belong to us. If you want them, you can buy them," Jonathan said. I nodded in agreement.

"I'm not here to buy them. I'm here to free them. I'm from the New California Republic, and I'll be taking these people from you whether you agree with me or not."

_To Be Continued…_


End file.
